


Tower of Hope

by yakyuu_yarou



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, Spoilers for Episode 152
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23843140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakyuu_yarou/pseuds/yakyuu_yarou
Summary: The weight Saira carries after the world ends is overwhelming at times. Apophis, whom she is hiding at the al-Tahan estate, notices.Spoilers referenced for RQG 152. This fic is shippy, so if that squicks you out, it's not for you!Title is from City of Lights by Runrig.
Relationships: Apophis/Saira al-Tahan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 15
Collections: Rusty Quill Gaming Exchange 2020





	Tower of Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flammenkobold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flammenkobold/gifts).



> This was a joy to write, and there may be more eventually because frankly? I love these two. They fascinate me. Flammen, you're wonderful. <3
> 
> To all of you who read this, thank you so much and I hope you enjoy! <3

All things considered, Saira dealt with the end of the world rather admirably. She wasn‘t exactly given any choice in the matter, of course. She‘d been taking care of most al-Tahan family matters for several months when it all went to hell, and her responsibilities in service to Apophis hadn‘t magically (hah) disappeared, either — and so they did not just vanish when reality as she had known it changed.

The changes weren‘t sudden, though they felt it, nor were they especially slow. It felt like it all began when — when Aziza passed, when Hamid came to Cairo, when he and his friends left and Ishak disappeared. But it didn‘t, and by the time everything was terrible, Saira knew enough and had so much to do that she just … did not have time to panic.

The panic came later. The panic came when her family seemed to need her more, not less, after they went into hiding, and when the first question her father asked in their weekly (less just wasn‘t possible) Mobile Stone calls stopped being „have they come back?“ The panic came when Apophis, now in hiding, situated in the al-Tahan country house‘s guest wing, relied on her more than ever. It came in the little spaces between breaths and letters and calls, in the moments of silently staring at the too-high ceiling above her bed.

And then, once it had settled into her heart and her thoughts, it never quite went away again. She was hiding it fairly well, too, or at least she thought she was — until, one afternoon, Apophis called her to his rooms. This did happen occasionally, though for the most part they each kept to themselves when they weren‘t working, consciously trying to maintain a shred of professional separation for both of their sanity‘s sake.

Saira obeyed, of course. She nodded at the servant — one of the ones who‘d been with the family for longer than even Saleh had remembered, Hamid had asked once, when they were little — and got up out of the plush chair she‘d been sitting in, pretending to read but really watching Ismail do the magic exercises Apophis had given him for the week. He was doing well, improving faster than she‘d expected, and she considered bringing up his swift progress at this impromptu meeting. But even as she got to her feet and set the book (a moderately scientific volume full of theories on sorcerers, most of which seemed like bullshit) down, she discarded the idea again. Chances were, Apophis knew exactly how well her brother was coming along.

As she passed Ismail, she gave in to the urge to ruffle his increasingly spiky hair which earned her an indignant squawk in a voice that wasn‘t as close to breaking as its owner would have liked. She smiled to herself and waved over her shoulder as she left, soaking in the moment before the door slipped shut behind her, leaving her in the deafening silence of the hallway.

She took a deep, conscious breath, and absently reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair back into the loose braid she’d bullied Saleh into helping her with that morning. Then she squared her shoulders and headed off, up several flights of stairs and through corridors that were as familiar to her as always keeping an eye out for Ishak’s high, bright voice was. Her eyes passed over the paintings of her ancestors — opulent, embarrassing things, reminders of the fact that as the current effective head of the family, she would have to get one made as well, eventually — and she wondered, idly, if any of them had held the same potential as _three_ of her brothers. If they did, nobody ever found out about it, which was both a little sad on a personal level and probably a very good thing on a political and financial one.

The guest wing, like some of the guest rooms at the family home, was mostly sized for visitors of human height. The ceilings in the country house were generally higher than in the city because the buildings themselves were much older, designed to naturally let the hot air escape upwards to keep the halfling-sized furniture cool instead of relying on magic or technology to keep the air conditioned.

Saira found herself staring up at the pristine white of them as she walked, everything around her far too familiar to demand her attention, her thoughts free to spin and spiral and shift. The panic that had taken up residence in her bones the way Apophis’s presence had in the house’s reared its head and superimposed images of what he might want onto the blank canvas of the walls: she had disappointed him, she had outlived her usefulness, she’d become too unstable to rely on or too overworked to burden more.

By the time she got to the door of Apophis’s sitting room, her hands were trembling. Just slightly, almost imperceptibly, but she _knew_ from experience and a deep-set certainty that only knowing someone very well could bring, that he would notice if she could not make herself stop. (Calming down wasn’t quite an option when panic and nervousness and genuine fear were mingling and melding in her mind, so stopping the _signs_ would have to do.) She focussed on her breathing; in, hold, out — in, hold, _out_. A minute passed, then two, but eventually, her fingers stilled and her heartbeat slowed fractionally. Good enough.

She knocked, then pushed open the door without waiting. Apophis was expecting her, and he was busy more often than not, and prone to just not hearing her knocks when he was engrossed in some task or another. When she poked her head through (an old habit that only reared its head in this house) and then stepped in, she saw that she’d been right: in the maybe ten minutes it would have taken for her to be informed and made her way to him, Apophis had picked up a stack of papers — a proposal from some offshoot group, judging by the seal stamped at the top of the head letter — and gotten lost in them.

Saira cleared her throat, back ramrod-straight once again. “You … asked to see me, my lord?”, she asked. She cleared her throat in the middle of it because her voice came out breathy and uncertain, not at all what she’d intended.

Apophis didn’t comment. Instead, he hummed out a low, resonant note — his voice was subdued here, changed to match his human shape just in case any of the servants (or any al-Tahan) were captured and interrogated; everyone had been a given a fake name for him, even the ones who _knew_ —, and his eyes snapped up to meet hers, bright orange without the magical disguise he used to dull them around the others. “I did, yes. Sit, please.” He gestured at an empty chair next to the one he’d settled in, then bent down to carefully set the papers down on the floor.

Saira obeyed, gave a quick nod and crossed over to the pair of armchairs, less plush than the ones in the lounge, and too large for her. She sat easily, thanking decades of careful education and exercise for the relative grace she managed to retain even in this, and scooted back until she felt as settled as she was going to get. She looked back at Apophis expectantly and folded her hands in her lap in an attempt to forestall their trembling, should they try to start again.

“Saira, my dear, I have been … worried.” His voice was gentle, though it still reverberated deep in her chest, in her core. She felt herself blush, and his nostrils flared once, as if he were trying to take apart her scent. She opened her mouth, not even sure what she was about to say, just trying to cut _in_ , but Apophis raised his hand, and she faltered. “Let me speak”, he said, and it was less a request and more a statement of what was going to happen. She nodded, shifted a little deeper into the soft upholstery.

“I know that life, here, like this, is hard on you”, he continued, and Saira bit her tongue — lightly — to stop herself from interrupting. The impulse to deny it was _overwhelmingly_ strong, but she managed, bound by her obedience and trust. He nodded, as if he’d noticed and was pleased, and it warmed her. “You are shouldering so much, my dear. So much more than you were ever meant to, and you do it so admirably.”

Again, Saira wanted to interrupt, but didn’t. Instead, she unfolded her hands and set them down on the chair’s armrests, overly conscious of every movement and Apophis’s scrutiny like she hadn’t been in _years_. The room felt too warm, her heartbeat felt too fast, but neither felt _bad_.

“I cannot lessen the weight you carry, and I wouldn’t presume to.” Even if she hadn’t been looking at him, she would have heard the smile in his voice. It made her shiver, just once and very quickly. “But I have a request to make.”

Ah, yes. There it was. Saira did her best to steel herself, to brace against whatever was to come. Dread tried to crawl up her throat, but she swallowed it down.

Apophis took a slow, deliberate breath before he spoke, and Saira found herself matching her own inhale to it without meaning to. It helped.

“I ask that you stop keeping it all in”, he said, and continued before Saira, puzzled, could enquire. “I ask that when you feel like you’re about to break under the weight of your family, the weight of me, and the weight of all that is happening outside these walls … you let me know. Come to me, and let me support you however I can, and when you once again feel like you can face whatever is happening, you will have me at your side — or your back, whichever you prefer. Let me _be there._ ”

Saira was frozen. She tried to move her fingers, her head, but couldn’t. Apophis’s words soaked into her, touched her deep in her soul and gently prised open a well that she’d been carefully holding closed for longer than she cared to count. She stared at him, unmoving, her brown eyes glued to his orange ones. She got a little lost in them while her thoughts turned into a wildfire fanned by the whirlwind of her emotions, in the honesty and intensity and _gentleness_ of his gaze, and when the chaos in her mind slowed down, Saira found herself trembling once again.

Saira tried to reply, but her voice refused to come to her, so she scooted off the chair and onto her feet instead. Only then could she form words, and she managed a soft “thank you” before she reached out on a whim, her heart in her throat.

Apophis responded, opened his arms immediately, and when Saira tipped towards him, he pulled her into his embrace. She sagged against his chest with a tearless sob that made her chest heave nonetheless, and his arms tightened around her, carefully dragged her into his lap so he could hold her more securely.

In that moment, Saira felt _safe_ for the first time in … maybe in _years_ , and it made her sob again, dry and shattered, as she near-burrowed into his chest. She let herself soak in the warmth of his body, closer now than ever before, and when one of his hands came up to ever-so-gently tip her face towards his, she managed a small smile. She didn’t attempt to thank him, knew he wouldn’t want to be thanked, and just met his burning eyes. Absently, she realised that her breathing had slowed, matched his slower rhythm, and that her too-tight muscles were relaxing, loosening as she let him hold her close.

His eyes were searching hers for something, but when she was just about to ask _what_ , they narrowed and he opened his mouth again. “Saira, my dear, will you let me kiss you?” He spoke even more quietly now, voice so low she felt it more than heard it, and it made her shiver again, a much stronger reaction now that she was less tense.

She nodded, then cocked her head a little, leaning into the hand on her cheek. “Yes”, she said, still smiling softly. “Please.”

And he did. His lips found hers easily (he probably had far better vision than she did, she reasoned, especially at extremely large or small distances), and when she felt them, her eyes slid closed. She let him guide her, content to just _feel_ this, let the feeling of safety and rightness sink into her and take up home where the panic had been.

Suddenly, Saira felt at home.


End file.
